


Let ('s all) go to the Lobby

by floodbringer



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Character, Desperation, Gen, Holding, In Public, Omorashi, Robin is 18, Wetting, like a touch of humiliation?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27039982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floodbringer/pseuds/floodbringer
Summary: She ends up wandering the back halls and bowels of the mall on her break one day, feeling like Indiana Jones, where she stumbled across a door into the theater, exiting next to one of the theaters, perfect for getting in ticket free.It was like theywantedpeople to sneak in, honestly.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Let ('s all) go to the Lobby

**Author's Note:**

> for alllthatglitters <3

When Robin first applied at the mall, she left her resume (six lines and a couple lies, but she’s only 18, nobody expects a complete work history, right?) at the brand new, eight theater movie place. She likes movies, and had liked the idea of access to new films, discount popcorn, not to mention the ability to covertly check out girls at the concession stand. She’d also been looking forward to semi-unlimited use of a large, dark room, floors sticky with spilled drinks and saturated with the scent of popcorn and the occasional spilled beer, and everyone’s attention on the screen, instead of the squirming attendant in the back row, a large and empty pop next to her. 

Getting hired at Scoop’s instead is a bit of a disappointment, but not for long. She ends up wandering the back halls and bowels of the mall on her break one day, feeling like Indiana Jones, where she stumbled across a door into the theater, exiting next to one of the theaters, perfect for getting in ticket free.

It was like they _wanted_ people to sneak in, honestly.

Steve might have shown the kids the secret passage first, but today is Robin’s turn to sneak in, after her shift. She’s been planning and squirming all day, just thinking about it. The film doesn’t matter, the flavor of pop doesn’t matter, just that blissful darkness, that empty back row, and a slowly filling bladder. She’s careful all day to stay hydrated, but not too hydrated, wanting to be primed for her planned night, to feel every ounce of that gloriously large drink settle inside her bladder, until she can feel the hard bulge of it through her belly. 

“Robin, you’re leaving me alone?” Steve whines when her shift is finally over.  
“Yep,” she says, grabbing one of their extra large shake cups and filling it from the soda gun they use for ice cream floats. “Sorry Harrington, I’m leaving you to the whims of the customer base. Speaking of which…” she points to the glut of preteens rushing through the door.  
“Oh Jesus, Buckley wait don’t leave-!” is the last thing she hears before she runs, giggling, out through the break room door to the service hallway. The movie is just starting when she walks, a little too casually, into the theater, taking small, eager sips of her drink. She finds a seat in the back, more than half the seats in the room abandoned, and settles in. 

It’s about 20 minutes into the movie when she starts to feel it, crossing her legs under her stupid uniform skirt. She feels flushed, arousal and need curling together like old friends in her belly, and she can’t hold back a big grin. She’s still got half the drink left, sloshing pleasantly when she lifts it up, her lips closing around the straw. 

Time goes a bit funny after that, her thighs tense, an excited awareness of her need in the back of her mind, but the movie is actually good, some crazy zombie flick she’s sure Steve’s kids will go nuts for. She gets caught up in it, following the story and before long she’s crunching on ice, watching an actor in green grease paint munch on a screaming blonde’s face, and that’s when it clicks.

She’s _really_ full. 

“Oh god,” she whispers to herself, face heating up. She’d meant to hold the whole movie, before she got this full, to wait it out and time it perfectly so she was good and desperate, jiggling in the line for the ladies room once the film let out, half worried she wouldn’t make it. But _this_ , this hot need in her bladder, the firm, dense feeling of it when she probes with shaky fingers, she hadn’t planned for that.

She moans low in her throat, lip caught between her teeth. It feels so good to keep pressing that she can’t stop, the need rocketing up with each squeeze or poke, her breathing hot and fast and erratic. Her other hand slots between her knees, holding on so tightly to keep anything from coming out that she can feel the tiny bones grinding. She must be such a picture right now, she thinks wildly, her chest heaving, her cheeks red, pressing against herself.

God, she loves it. 

The whole theater except for her jumps suddenly, something happening on screen that she can’t be bothered to pay attention to, rocking against her fingers, hoping arousal might cut through the desperate needy heat threatening to overtake her. _Talk about desperate,_ she thinks wryly, and squeaks when instead of helping, the pressure of her fingers through her panties releases a spurt of heat, dampening the cloth.

_Oh god, oh god,_ she thinks, trying to get herself back under control. She can’t wet herself here like a child, she just _can’t_ , even if the idea of going to her knees on that sticky disgusting floor and flooding sounds kind of good right now, _very_ good right now, she can not do that.

Right?

“Fuck,” she lets herself whine quietly, twisting in the seat and slumping down, skirt riding up somewhere by her back, her fingers sliding aside her panties and _oh_. Oh, she can _feel_ the difference between her regular slickness and what she’s accidentally leaked out, the quarter sized wet patch in her panties starting to cool where her knuckles are pressed into it. This position makes her bladder feel even _fuller,_ her body more insistently telling her that she needs to go, needs to relieve herself of all that golden heat, needs to _pee._ She’d run for it but the movie has to be almost over and she’s certain that as soon as she stood the contents of her bladder would start to gush out of her, soaking her panties and the brand new carpet in the hall out by the bathrooms, leaving her shaky and dripping and satisfied in front of some poor shocked theater employee, waiting to clean the room of popcorn and spilled soda, not her piss.

She’s stuck between humiliation and her own pride, and she’d really dislike celebrating her next birthday in a courtroom getting sentenced for public urination, but she just doesn’t know what to _do_.

_Maybe this was a bad idea,_ she thinks, tears threatening, shame and true fear starting to creep up on her- and then her eyes land on the empty cup tipped over on the floor. 

Relief rushes through her, and she grabs for it, kneeling on the floor. Her socks stick in spilled soda and if she wasn’t so desperate she’d make a face, but instead she barely notices, jamming the cup under herself and letting go over her tight control, not even bothering to move her half-soaked underwear. The cup is barely in place before she starts to fill it back up, piss dripping through the cotton into the cup and her loud relieved sigh is thankfully drowned out by the screaming blonde on the movie screen, her face wide and terrified. 

It’s so dirty and embarrassing and _good_ , Robin can feel the heat of it dripping over her fingers and down her thighs when it doesn’t quite make the cup, can just barely smell it, pungent enough to cut through the smell of the stale pop and beer she’s kneeling in, her cheek pressed into the back of the (thankfully empty) chair in front of her, and the _sound,_ oh god the sound. She hopes no one else can hear it but she can, sending lightening bolts of arousal through her. She can hear the urgent solid _phunk-ssshhh_ when the stream first hits the cardboard bottom, the steady gushing _pppppssssssshhhh_ sound of it, like a faucet’s been turned on. She can hardly believe this is coming out of _her,_ that she’s kneeling on the ground in a movie theater, holding back a porn star worthy moan while she pisses into a cup. 

“Jeez Buckley,” she mutters to herself, pressing firmly against her stomach. “How much can you possibly have in there?” 

Apparently the answer is a lot, because she just keeps _peeing_ , and she starts to wonder what she’ll do if she fills the cup, already more than half full, and that’s _with_ what is soaking into her panties, the trickles streaming down her thighs. She can’t actually piss out the entire contents of her pop, can she? 

The movie is wrapping up, she has to stop, has to hurry, is half hysterical with worry so she bears down on her stomach, pushing so hard it hurts, and bites the back of the chair to keep from crying out. The stream changes, urgently rushing out of her body so fast it feels like there’s a fire hose between her legs, even more piss missing the cup, leaking out into her panties and she’s so glad she flipped her skirt out of the way, her whole body so warm she thinks she might combust.

It finally starts to falter, the relief of that almost as good as the relief of pissing in the first place, slower and slower until the only thing trickling into the cup is her drenched, ruined panties. She sits back on shaky legs and puts the lid back on the cup with even shakier fingers.

She stands, flipping her skirt back down, just before the house lights come up. 

She doesn’t have time to slip out of her ruined undies, so she hopes she doesn’t smell, hopes there isn’t a huge obvious wet spot that screams of what she’s just done soaking into her skirt, and heads quickly out of the theatre clutching the cup.

“Miss?” says a nasally voice as she exits, and she nearly jumps out of her skin. 

“W-what?” she snaps, whirling to face a red vested kid she vaguely remembers from tenth grade History, dying inside, the waxed cardboard cup heated nearly as warm as her face. 

“We don’t allow outside food and drink,” he says smugly, pointing at the Scoops logo on the cup. 

Robin could piss herself in relief, if she hadn’t recently finished doing just that. “I’ll uh. I’ll remember that next time,” she lies, and flees at a breakneck pace.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first stranger things story, hope you all enjoy!


End file.
